


the Blessed Messiah and the Tower of AI

by SteelDollS



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Angst and Feels, Based on a Vocaloid Song, Death, Emotional Hurt, End of the World, Fantasy, Magic, Sacrifice, Saving the World, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 00:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelDollS/pseuds/SteelDollS
Summary: In a world that's fallen to ruin where only children survived, Miku, a seamstress, is chosen by a messenger from the Kingdom, to become the new "Messiah." Nine friends go with her on a difficult journey to the tower of AI, to receive the blessings hidden in the tower, which she must take in order to light the altar on the top level. If she is successful, the prayers and flame she must bring to the altar are prophecied to save the world for another 15 years.A oneshot story, plot directly modeled after the song by teamOS.A note; AI can be interpreted a number of ways. It is spelled in katakana in the title, allowing many interpretations. It can be interpreted as either love or sorrow, or phonetically as in A.I. You can find the song with English translations on youtube or nicovideo.





	the Blessed Messiah and the Tower of AI

"The chosen, Blessed Messiah must take the nine blessings that are locked in the tower, and ascend, to light the top of the tower with sacred flame. It must be accomplished by the end of one year, or else the world will end."

The words of prophecy stirred the townspeople of Youth. They looked at each other. Gathered in the town's square, each upturned face wondered who would be chosen. Someone pure of heart. Someone worthy of receiving the nine blessings locked away in the legendary tower. Someone the most beloved, by the people, or by God, perhaps.

Only once in 15 years was a potential new Messiah selected from the towns of children. A messenger from the Kingdom had been dispatched to provide the prophecy. The duty of a Messiah was a grave one, but it was also a fantastic one, with opportunities towards receiving the often-whispered of blessings in that mysterious tower. What would happen if one received a blessing like that? The children wondered.

Long hair in pigtails, a girl stood in the sparce throng of villagers, looking up in surprise as the prophecy was laid upon her. The seamstress, who was well beloved, was chosen. Being congratulated encouragingly, several friends went next to her, taking her hands and patting her shoulder warmly.

"Nine Messiahs may accompany, to help the chosen Messiah take the glory of blessings so you may ascend," the messenger finished through the din of sound, and finally closed up the proclaimation of prophecy.

"We will go with you," said one of pair of twins with pale hair, "to the Tower!"

"...And help you with ascending it," the swordswoman who wore red smiled confidently.

"Try your best to get the blessings," the other twin said encouragingly.

"It will be hard to get there," spoke a petite girl with blonde hair.

"...but we will help each other!" finished her younger brother.

"Let's save the life of this paradise that is about to die," a dancer with pink hair and blue eyes agreed solemnly.

"I can't ask you to face such hardships," the seamstress said, her heart touched by her friends' words of love and kindness.

"You can't get rid of us that easily," joked the monk with long, purple hair, and nudged her shoulder with his own. "We won't let you go by yourself."

"If we trust and believe in each other, we'll fear nothing," a poet with short green hair grinned.

"In sickness and in health... we share in each other's joys and pains." A boy with warm blue eyes said quietly, approvingly putting his hand on the monk's shoulder, smiling right at the new chosen Messiah.

Tears welled up in the seamstress's eyes. Believing unconditionally in the smiles and hands held out to her now.

Divine judgement had been passed on the people of the world not long ago, leaving only the children behind in a ruined world. The adults of the old world, thinking they could replace God, had been smitten down and had left the world in a state of near destruction. Only the fabled tower of AI, and the blessed Messiah who ascended the tower, could pray for God's forgiveness, and defend the last remainder of the world and its child occupants within.

"It's said that the lifespan of the world is lit on top of the tower," the poet with short green hair and green eyes said quietly as the townspeople began to slowly disperse from the square, the excitement finished now that the chosen had been selected and the fate of the world lay on her narrow shoulders.

"If we fail to help the blessings to be taken by her, this world we love will end," the dancer with long pink hair rejoined solemnly, just out of the hearing of the seamstress, who was still being congratulated by other friends.

"Is the world we love this world, or is it the world we all live together in?" The monk had noticed them speaking and stepped forwards to join them.

"Ah," the dancer said and looked at the tower, far off in the distance, not seeing a need to reply further.

The seamstress prepared to leave the town of Youth. The trip was long, and the tower seemed taller than a mountain, even from the distance. In the morning, her skirts arranged as well as she could, and her travel pack secured, her friends and she breakfasted together, then walked from the town of Youth.

The going was difficult. The journey was made lighter by the company of the nine friends who had joined the chosen Messiah, as long days turned into weeks, and then months of travel to the far off Tower. Laughing together in good company, comforting hurts as one or another received a small injury along the way. Sharing meals together and feeling a bond that seemed unbreakable brought light to the seamstress's heart and banished away all the fears.

"With these friends beside me, they are already my greatest blessings," she said in a gentle joy to the sky, receiving a squeeze of her hand from the boy with blue hair, smiling back.

Large spars of rock that needed to be climbed just to get to the base of the tower required all of the strength of the chosen Messiah's group to help each other up beyond. 

Huge doors like dual giant caverns loomed in front of the group as they stood in front of the long-sought tower. Close to a year had come and gone, but they had made it. Only receiving the blessings and ascending the stairs remained for the seamstress's group. The door opened slowly, heavy dust grating from its edge and falling as if not of this world, to the rocky ground.

Each child silently reached out a hand to the others, and hand in hand, they took the first step inside together.

Great pillars held up the Tower of AI from within. Etched deeply into the circular stone pillars were strange characters. The seamstress looked around. The boy in blue stood near to her. The swordswoman in red tensed, but no threat made itself known just yet. The stone floor echoed as the monk with long purple hair walked to the nearest pillar and touched its faintly glowing markings with his fingertip, his face inscrutable as his lips moved silently.

On one great stone wall, a single, sad, empty bronze torch was lightly suspended. A plaque near to the torch promised some information. The monk, seeing the seamstress's gaze, shook himself slightly, then joined her. 

"What does it say?" the blonde girl asked.

"...This torch. ...Our chosen Messiah, you can carry this, to the top of the tower," the monk answered slowly. He seemed to be deep in some kind of other thoughts, mind elsewhere, but he continued again after a moment, sounding as if he had come to some sort of conclusion, whether for the good or the bad. "Don't worry. We'll figure out a way to safely get you there... somehow."

The boy in blue glanced over at the monk, a frown furrowing his brow for a moment. The seamstress turned to look at her friends, eyes glowing in something akin to pride, or more akin to love, and the boy in blue smoothed his concerned look away to smile back at her.

"That's right," the younger brother with blonde hair encouraged. "The world is relying on us."

"And more importantly, our blessed Messiah is counting on us, too!" one of the twins nudged the seamstress's shoulder with her own, earning a small laugh from the teal-haired girl.

"I'm not 'blessed' yet," the seamstress reminded everyone. "The blessings themselves should be on the upper floors. But with your help, and God's grace, surely we'll be alright."

The monk didn't speak as he walked around to the other pillars, still forming words voicelessly while reading their inscriptions. Setting out provisions for the night, and breaking for a meal, the friends joked and encouraged each other, having finally made it this far, though subdued somewhat, due to the sense of being in a sacred place.

"The town of Youth seems so nearby, but also so far away," the pink-haired dancer glanced at the torch the chosen Messiah held in her hands. And around to the rest of the vast room, where no stair appeared.

"I should pray for forgiveness for our sins this night," the seamstress seemed suddenly solemn. "And perhaps the next, and the next. If God will not accept my prayers, we won't be able to advance from here."

"Your prayers will surely be heard," the monk said softly from where he stood by the farthest pillar. The seamstress smiled a little, but seemed more subdued than the others. The boy in blue stood after a moment, and went to stand near the monk, studying the pillars, though he could not read them.

The seamstress prayed earnestly, while her companions tried to be as quiet as possible. 

Much later that night, after everyone gone to sleep, the boy in blue was awoken by a gentle shake to his shoulder. Then, the girl in green. The pale-haired twins. One by one, everyone but the chosen Messiah herself was quietly woken, and the gesturing hand of the monk under a soft glow of light beckoned them to silently climb the new staircase that had appeared by one end of the large stone room.

Voices echo and carry in stone buildings, but the staircase seemed to dampen the sound unnaturally as the nine spoke in hushed whispers, first in the monk's tones of seriousness, then in argument, in fear, and in determination. One by one, they returned to their bedrolls, slipping back in, careful not to wake the teal-haired Messiah. In the dark, nine pairs of eyes stared sightlessly at a stone ceiling until dawn came, thinking about the words they had heard spoken.

_"The true meaning of the blessings sealed in the Tower..."_

...

The boy in blue unexpectedly put his firm, warm hand in hers, as the chosen Messiah reached out in awe to the first blessing, her eyes filled with joy. They'd finally made it. The second floor. The first blessing. The image of a swirl of Blooming Wave. It would be alright. She glanced, startled, but still smiling, into his eyes.

The warmth in the hand that held hers and the smile on his kind face as the boy in blue spoke didn't waver as he said: "We share joy and pain."

With that, he shoved the seamstress away from the first blessing and back out of the door, back into the second floor chamber they had entered. As the great door with its decorative appearance slammed in her face, her swiftly vanished sight of the boy showed his smiling in a strange, wild way. The boy's normal gentle smile had vanished in that odd, twisted expression. 

The seamstress shook in her shoes, staring at the now-sealed door. What... what had happened? Her friend's final words still echoed back, like a mockery of what he'd told her at the beginning of their long journey.

Appalled, the remaining friends clung to each others' hands, then, one by one, as if by unspoken agreement, let their hands drop away from the others.

"If I don't receive the blessings, my torch won't light," the seamstress said in disbelief, looking down at her own hand that had, just a moment ago, been warmed by her trusted friend's presence.

"There are eight blessings left on the other floors. We'll make sure the torch can be lit," the monk offered, but there was an odd note to his voice that hadn't been there yesterday. Tension between the remaining friends was tangible in the air. The seamstress hugged herself, suddenly feeling cold and uncertain.

Off to the side of the walls, the stair they had come up had apparently been sealed along with the now-closed door. The seamstress hadn't heard or seen it change, shocked as she'd been by the boy in blue.

A new staircase appeared, going up, in its place.

...

...Outside the door to the second blessing, the Fire Banquet, the swordswoman's eyes gleamed red. She threw herself forward into the room, holding out her sword to keep anyone else from entering. As she smirked, the second door slammed closed, leaving everyone else outside.

...

..."Back off. I will be the one to take this one." The elder twin sister won The Grace of Sunlight, the third blessing, away from her scowling, upset younger sister, as she went into the room swiftly with a complacent smile, not even allowing the seamstress to get anywhere near it.

...

..."Alright, sister, then this one is mine!" Showing her frustration, the younger twin immediately moved forward to room containing the blessing of Peaceful Darkness. The door slammed shut behind her, and so the fourth blessing also was stolen.

...

"But I'm the one... _I_ was chosen," the seamstress protested in a small voice, her eyes and heart hurting. 

...

"You can't keep it all to yourself." 

"We won't let you!" her former friends proclaimed, stealing the next two blessings without hesitation, as the monk said a prayer to the blessing of Trembling Ground, and the poet hummed to herself within the room of the blessing of the Rumble of Thunder.

...

One by one, as they climbed the floors of the Tower, the seamstress's friends flung themselves to the blessings on each floor as if they couldn't wait to steal them from her. Grabbing the glories as fast as they could. When the rooms of the blessings closed, they didn't reopen.

Was this what greed for the blessings did to people? The seamstress looked with growing uncertainty at her still-unlit torch, and gripped it tighter in a small, sweaty palm. Fear and distrust grew in the seamstress's heart as they rose further and further up the tower, leaving her feeling more and more numb, afraid, alone.

Where had her friends gone? Were they all against her? ...The ones who had left her to steal a blessing did not reappear.

The stairs got smaller as they rose to each succeeding level of the Tower: only three blessings remained. If she was going to have any chance to light the torch...

"Why is this happening? ...I have to get rid of my feelings of love. This has gone too far," the seamstress said, stricken, only to herself, as the door to the sixth blessing slammed shut in front of her. "I can't let my one-sided love for my friends allow all these blessings to be stolen and the world to end. I can't let any more blessings be stolen!"

...

Despite the seamstress's heartbroken determination, in the room of the seventh blessing, the Rondo of the Wind, the pink-haired dancer successfully stole that blessing, too, swaying rhythmically in gracefulness as the door slammed heartlessly shut.

And the older blonde sister silently shoved her younger brother away to step into the blessing room named "the Garden of Silver Snow." Her tears of joy at receiving the blessing froze before they could even leave her eyes.

"This one is the final blessing." The younger brother said in a pained voice, as the seamstress stood in front of the final room of blessing: the sleeping Fetal Movement of Magma.

"...Wait. There's something strange," the younger brother said, holding his staff out as if to keep the earnest, worried seamstress safe as they entered the room. "I'll make sure to protect you, so please. Trust in me."

The seamstress hesitated, then nodded, needing to believe in at least this one last friend who hadn't abandoned her for his own greed. She backed away slightly, and the younger twin stepped up to the blessing, looking directly at its glowing sigil. His staff lowered somewhat as he turned. 

The younger twin smiled proudly to the seamstress, suddenly stealing the final blessing with his deception.

The door slammed shut.

The seamstress was alone now. Betrayed by every friend she had trusted, all the blessings had been stolen. She held her head in her hands in final despair. Looking down at her unlit torch dully, with everything stolen from her, she raised her eyes to the new staircase that had presented itself. The staircase to the top of the tower, to the altar. 

The seamstress climbed the final stair with legs that had no sensation to them. 

Nothing mattered. She had no flame with which to light the top of the tower. She could not become the Messiah that saved this world she had loved. Everything good she had known in the world was gone, twisted, and broken. Her friends had abandoned her and the world, and there was nothing. Even going forward had no point to it. She had failed everyone.

She climbed the stairs, the empty torch held up from her hand in a play of what it should have been.

As the light from outside hit her eyes, they adjusted, and then went wide. The seamstress stared at the nine lifeless, stone statues; statues made from fleshless corpses... but somehow... recognizing them one by one. Her friends.

_"The true meaning of the 'blessing' sealed in the Tower is an atonement of the Messiah." The monk's whisper, meant for everyone but the chosen Messiah, echoed in the first dark night inside the Tower._

Sacrifices.

Kaito. Even though bring drowned in a rough sea. _The blessing of a Blooming Wave._  
Meiko. Burned alive. Dancing in the hellfire. _The blessing of the Fire Banquet._  
IA. Helplessly falling on her knees during merciless drought. _The blessing of the Grace of Sunlight._  
Mayu. Bring trapped forever in darkness and losing her mind. _The blessing of Peaceful Darkness._  
Gakupo. Being swallowed by the earth. _The blessing of Trembling Ground._

_"We won't let you go by yourself."_

Even though being struck by the judgement lightning: Gumi. _The blessing of the Rumble of Thunder._  
Being torn up by a hurricane: Luka. _The blessing of the Rondo of the Wind._  
Being frozen to the bones, to the soul: Rin. _The blessing of the Garden of Silver Snow._  
Crawling through volcanic fire: Len. _The blessing of the Fetal Movement of Magma._

_"We won't stop believing..."_  
_"In sickness and in health."_  
_"...We share our joy and pain."_

Blood red wax dripped down from the stone bodies fluidly, the candles that were lit in the hand of each statue having sprung to light one by one as each of the blessings had been taken, wax flowing effortlessly down into the sigil carved into the floor of the tower's altar. All dead. Killed to protect the seamstress who they had each loved and believed in. To help her get to the top of the tower. Protecting her even from their knowledge they would be killed in her place. To atone to the angry God for the sins she must atone for in her appointed role of a new Messiah. She wouldn't have let them do it. And then everyone, the entire world, would have perished.

"You, who got through this ordeal with these sacrifices, now add a new life of paradise." A voice seemed to whisper into the seamstress's ear. "Continue this torch relay." 

_...After all these innocent sacrifices, this foolish habit will never be broken. _

"Hold up this torch that your friends helped you to win."

A sound like bells rang inside the seamstress's pounding head. The sound of glory. Her legs buckled under her as though made of rubber, and she fell down on her knees in the middle of the altar. The red candles of lives had completed dripping down, and the sigil was finished. Looking at the statues representing her friends, her eyes reflecting devastating love and pain, the seamstress accepted the will of the God she had come to pray to so as to save a world of paradise.

The empty torch she had brought up the flights of stairs lay forgotten to one side. However, in front of her raised eyes, the seamstress saw a enormous flame of beautiful colors burning brightly on the altar of stone itself: a torch representing all nine lives her friends had given in order to get her this far up the tower.

"I have created nine 'AI'. ...Nine sorrows. ...Nine loves," She thought. Smiling silently by herself, through the wetness on her cheeks, the chosen, blessed, tenth Messiah reached her hands towards the altar's flame.

...

_"...I won't let you go by yourself."_


End file.
